


Every Room

by EmRosie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bickering, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmRosie/pseuds/EmRosie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco and Harry finally get a place together, Harry informs him of the muggle tradition of… visiting every room in the house. Draco didn’t used to think muggles were capable of having good ideas; for once, he may be willing to be proved wrong. DMHP Draco/Harry Draco POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it’s obviously slash from the pairing and if you can’t tell from the blurb that it’s going to include lots of sex, then obviously you need to work up on your knowledge of kinky new home traditions. ;) It’s not just about that, though, and in the second instalment you may see some touches on angsty/emotional/fluffy notes that balance the smut. But, on the whole, it is very smut heavy, so if that's not for you, you have been warned. If it is - enjoy! The second part will be updated ASAP.

It took Draco and Harry a long time to progress from casual fucking to an actual relationship. Even after their official relationship begun it took Draco months to actually call Harry by his given name at any time other than during the height of his orgasm. Merlin, it took them long enough to even admit their interest in casual fucking still existed when they were sober and not only after enough Firewhiskey to knock out a troll. 

So, really, it should have been no surprise that their decision to move in together wasn’t really a decision at all. After the war, with Lucius sentenced to Azkaban and his mother on house arrest, Draco found Malfoy Manor, with its walls seeming to still scream of the Dark Lord’s tarnish entirely too depressing (that was what lead to the copious amount of time being spent in dingy wizarding pubs, where he met Potter wallowing in self-pity for those he’d not saved, which was what led to the fucking in the first place). Sadly, the tarnish appeared too depressing for Narcissa; although she hid it well to Draco’s face, the loss of her husband and the love of her home led to an illness she couldn’t quite shake. She had, the healers explained, quite simply given up on living. She had died two years after the war and Draco had remained in the Manor for six months after that.

Until Lucius found out that not only was his son bent, but also fucking Harry Potter, whom he blamed entirely for his incarceration (not the fact he’d willingly followed a madman, obviously) and disowned Draco from the Manor. The wards promptly threw him out and he’d found himself outside with the house elves unable to listen to his requests without screaming and tearing at their ears. He stayed the night at the Leaky Cauldron and then went straight to the Ministry, where a witch who was unpleasantly cheerful informed Draco that as Lucius was – despite his current status – still Master of the Manor, he could control those allowed admittance to the property. 

“What?” Harry had gaped when Draco had told him.

“Close your mouth, you look like a flobberworm.” Draco had sneered in return, unable to accept such an unattractive expression on Harry’s face whatever the situation. “Let me simplify the situation for your measly brain cells; my father found out were fucking, my father still officially owns the Manor. Not only does my father require me to sire and heir – unlikely at best given my preferences – he requires me to stay away from someone who he believes responsible for ruining his entire life. You, unfortunately, are drawing a black mark against both criteria.”

“It wasn’t me, he made his own choices. Your mother helped me, that’s why I could save her.” Harry had muttered darkly, as he had stared so angrily into the carpet Draco feared he may actually wandlessly burn a hole in the carpet with his gaze alone. Draco knew, of course, how this conversation would go if it began. Lucius blamed Harry for his Azkaban sentence as Harry had been able to free both Narcissa and Draco with his testimonies; testimonies which were true, supported by pensive memories, and clearly demonstrated both of their efforts in saving his life. Because Lucius had so willingly – blindly – followed a madman there had been no such opportunity for Harry to provide such a testimony. 

Not that Draco blamed Harry for that. He had spent some time, of course - as every seventeen year old whose father had been jailed for life would do – blaming Harry. But because Draco wasn’t an idiot, after the initial shock of his father’s imprisonment had worn away, he was able to recognise that Lucius’s situation was no-ones fault but his own.

Because Draco had already realised that, he had no intention of entertaining Harry’s emotions about the situation. “I know.” He had simply replied, pushing past the conversation. “But his problem lies with me, so I’ve been disinherited.”

“Can’t you go to your father? Ask him to change his mind?” Harry had asked, which only made Draco laugh, the sound cold, hard and humourless.

“I would never crawl to him and give him the satisfaction.” Draco had sneered, and it had been true. He wasn’t sure what he would do, but he was certain he wouldn’t visit his father and ask for a place in his house. Harry stayed silent for a moment after that, and then he said;

“Well, you’ll have to live with me then, won’t you?”

“Here?” Draco had retorted without missing a beat, arching a disdainful eyebrow as he cast his gaze around the hovel Harry called his home. Harry hadn’t changed Number 12 Grimmuald Place in a single way since he had inherited the property; it was damp, lifeless and quite frankly, incredibly disgusting. “You live in a fleapit.”

Harry had looked around the sitting room they were stood together in as if seeing the moth-eaten furniture and the peeling wallpaper for the first time. He had grimaced, turned back to Draco with fire in his eyes and said; 

“Well, we’ll just have to find somewhere else, won’t we?”

And that was why today, three weeks from the day Draco was removed from the Manor, he and Harry were crossing the threshold of their new home. Once Harry had accepted he couldn’t do much to curb Draco’s lavish tastes and, in turn, Draco had accepted Harry wasn’t willing to live in a mansion to which he had become accustomed to, they had finally found a house on the outskirts of Wimborne that suited both of their desires.

“We better unpack.” Harry said, withdrawing both his wand and a small velvet sack from his pocket. He opened the sack, cast a careful charm in little more than a whisper – Draco couldn’t hear, but didn’t need to, as he had been the one who taught Harry the spell in the first place – which began the removal of a steady stream of trunks, crates and boxes from the sack and stacked placed them on the empty floor of the main sitting room. Draco added the second charms one by one which returned each item to its original size. Once all of their belongings were out Harry tucked the sack away, sunk to his knees and dragged the nearest crate toward him, yanking it open and delving inside.

“Honestly.” Draco sniped, rolling his eyes as he looked down at Harry who was currently sorting through the crate which appeared to be full of Auror handbooks. “You’re so muggle sometimes. You own a house elf.” 

“Yes? But he’s in Grimmuald Place? Where you didn’t want to live.” Harry blinked in confusion, before his tone turned accusatory on his final sentence. 

“And I never will.” Draco agreed tartly, smoothing his robes to recover them from an imaginary wrinkle which had sprung at the mere mention of Draco living in such a dump; he had done, however, for the three weeks it had taken for them to find a house. Three weeks which had incurred an event which would come in very useful now. “But you can still call him to do your bidding. Kreacher.” Draco called out the elf’s name in a shrill tone, clicking his fingers in a summoning motion as he did so. 

The elf appeared with a sharp crack, bowing to Draco as he entered the room. “Master Malfoy, Master Potter. How is Kreacher helping you?” The tone of the elf was still reluctant – Draco assumed it always would be – but he had been a little more eager to follow Draco’s orders once Harry instructed him he was to do so when he first move- temporarily claimed residence – at Grimmuald Place. It was the Black blood from his mother, Draco knew, which made him so eager to serve. 

“You are to unpack all of our items.” Draco instructed, gesturing to the piles of luggage beside him. “Most things should go into the respective rooms from which they were before. Anything Harry brought from the Parlour –“ Draco chose this moment to pause and cast Harry an icy glare, reminding him of exactly how Draco continued to feel about Harry’s refusal to admit they required such a room “-Can stay in the sitting room for now and he will sort them himself.”

Kreacher simply nodded, turned his back on Malfoy, and set himself to work. With a crate marked ‘kitchen’ in hand he disappeared without a single sound, save the crack which signalled his disapparation. Draco found his lack of enthusiasm to serve quite refreshing at times – it certainly detracted from the annoying squeak of voices which Draco had blamed in the past for a number of his headaches. 

“We don’t need a parlour.” Harry grumbled, clearly observant enough to notice Malfoy’s pause. “You’re such a git.” He added, as if the insult would support his argument.

“I know, but I’m worth it.” Draco replied with a trademark smirk and a toss of his hair – he wore it a little looser these days and although it was still sleeked into an elegant style, it allowed for a natural movement that Draco had come to learn melted Harry every time. 

“I’m starting to wonder.” Harry grumbled again, although a small smile had begun to tug at his lips, and his tone was half-hearted at best. Suddenly a bright, interested look flashed through Harry’s eyes, alighting them with emotion. After years of watching Harry’s face for all emotions – Gryffindor’s were really far too expressive – Draco knew this meant his lover had just had an idea. Draco raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to speak his thoughts aloud. “Well, muggles, they have this tradition..” Harry began, and Draco was about to cut in with a sneering remark about how he certainly wouldn’t be upholding any muggle traditions in a wizarding home when he saw a smouldering look of desire had replaced his flash of interest. Draco had to forcibly bite down on his tongue to hold back the insult and hoped the look in Harry’s eyes would translate to an arrangement which was worth it. “When they first buy a new home, they fuck in every room... To make the house theirs, to fill it with life.” 

Draco would have asked how fucking could possibly give them anymore ownership over a house they had paid for, or how it could fill a house with life any more than simply living in it could. He would have asked, but he saw no point in asking such pointless questions when the end result was something entirely too pleasurable. “So you want to fulfil this tradition, I guess?” Draco asked, deliberately dropping his tone to a low, sensual rumble which he knew from experience had the power to go straight to Harry’s cock. From the way Harry’s eyelids fluttered, that talent was something Draco would continue to hold in their new home. 

“Well, it does seem like a pretty good idea..” He said, taking a step toward Draco and beginning to close the distance between them. 

“Strangely, I agree.” Draco replied, his tone so low now it could almost resemble a purr. “I didn’t know muggles were capable of good ideas.” 

Normally, such a comment would have earned Draco a glare at best, most usually some sort of insult back, or at the worst, a hex. But the way Harry was staring at him – like a Hungarian Horntail narrowing down on its prey – wasn’t the look Draco usually received in the midst of their arguments. 

For that reason, Draco wasn’t at all surprised when Harry ignored his comment, lunged over the gap that still separated him, and claimed Draco’s lips in a bruising kiss. Draco accepted eagerly, pressing his body flush against Harry’s and moving their lips together with hunger. Hands slipped into hair, over shoulders, under the hem of shirts and over the satisfying curve of a lovers arse. It wasn’t important whose hands went where, only that they were touching each other, and that their lips didn’t part for a moment as Draco pushed Harry back through the door of the sitting room and toward the staircase in the hall. Draco saw no reason to break their kiss, in fact, he only became more eager, nipping at Harry’s lower lip as they lifted themselves up onto the first stair. Harry spun with a sudden, sharp movement which saw Draco pinned against the wall with Harry’s hard, lean body and even harder cock holding him firmly in place. Which, of course, was absolutely fine with Draco; a little pit-stop on their way to the bedroom was in fact a rather intelligent idea, it allowed Draco the time to slip his hand from under Harry’s shirt to the front of his trousers, moaning in desire as he palmed the growing bulge they housed. 

What wasn’t fine with Draco was the way Harry broke their kiss, moved his face away from Draco’s, and opened his eyes. 

“I don’t want to go to the bedroom.” Harry murmured as if reading Draco’s thoughts. “I want to save it ‘til last.” 

“Then where do you suggest?” Draco asked, irritation at the loss of Harry’s lips leaking into his tone. 

Harry pulled back a little further, so his gaze was directly on Draco’s, and then his lover could see the sparkling look of mischief in his eyes. “What’s wrong with right here?”

Nothing at all, of course, was the answer to that question. The answer was so clear, in fact, that Draco didn’t believe it needed to be dignified with a response. Instead he was the one to lunge forward this time and claim Harry’s lips again. This time when their hands began to wander Draco kept a much clearer track of whose hands were doing what; currently his long, nimble fingers were palming Harry’s growing dick through his trousers. When Harry’s hands slipped down the back of Draco’s trousers, eliciting a moan he couldn’t hold back as a his lover slid a single finger down between the dip of his cheeks, Draco felt it was time to even the field. He detangled his second hand from Harry’s hair and slid it down to join its partner, working away at Harry’s familiar belt buckle in seconds and dropping both his trousers and his boxers to the floor. Now they were skin to skin – Draco’s hands against the silken skin of Harry’s cock, Harry’s fingers circling the puckered flesh of Draco’s hole – and every nerve ending in Draco’s body was on fire. He had been sure, when he and Harry first started fucking, that it would be a phase he would be able to satisfy given time. 

Now Draco knew that all the time-turners in the world – if there had been any left after the war - wouldn’t give him enough time to dampen his passion for Harry. 

There was a sharp, cold loss of contact that made Draco whine with disappointment into the kiss as Harry slipped his hands out of Draco’s boxers and outstretched his hand. After a second, however, a sharp slap against Harry’s palm told Draco he had no need to be disappointed.

“Wandless and non-verbal.” Draco murmured with a smirk against Harry’s lips as he pulled back his tongue from the wet warmth of his partner’s mouth. “I’m so lucky to be fucking the Chosen One.”

“Don’t you forget it.” Harry murmured back with a smirk of his own, dropping the tube of lube onto the step beside them as he worked to remove Draco’s trousers. Shirts were only removed as an afterthought and, soon enough, Harry had bent Draco over on his hands and knees on the staircase, pushing a slick finger into his hole. Draco pushed back against the finger, relishing in the feeling of having any part of Harry inside him. Harry took the grind for what it was – a silent question for more – and slipped in a second finger without hesitation. Draco groaned at the fuller feeling it gave, allowing Harry to use the coaxing fingers to tease him open. Several moments passed before Harry added a third, taking his time to circle Draco’s hole with his fingertips and ease him open to allow more. He worked agonisingly slowly, driving Draco half-mad with desire. “If you take this long every time, we’ll have died of old age before we complete the tradition.” He sneered. Of course, his insult had the desired effect, and Harry withdrew all three fingers and slammed his cock through Draco’s parted cheeks and inside without warning. Draco hissed at the sudden intrusion, but the pain soon gave way to pleasure as Harry began to thrust inside him. Soon enough Draco was rocking his arse back in time against the rolls of Harry’s hips and his lover snaked an arm around to grasp his cock in a firm, powerful grip. It took Harry hardly anytime at all to match the pumps of his fist to the rhythm of his hips and Draco knew instantly what he wanted; for him to come first, for his arse to clench around him in orgasm in the way that so often saw Harry come undone. 

After a few more well-placed thrusts of Harry’s hips, Draco was only too happy to oblige. He cried out as his orgasm swept through him, the evidence of his pleasure firing from his cock and decorating the cream carpet of their staircase. He had little time to care for that – even if he did, that’s what cleaning charms were for – as he rode out the pleasure Harry gave him and listened to the hitch in the breath of the man behind him that told Draco his lover wasn’t far behind. Not far at all, it turned out, as in the next second Harry dug his nails sharply into Draco’s hips, snapped his body taught and flush against Draco’s and moaned as his own orgasm sailed through him and into Draco. 

Afterwards they collapsed against the staircase, lying awkwardly atop of each other against the steep incline of the steps. As Harry’s breathing shallowed out, Draco gently pushed him away, reaching for his wand to clean up the mess on the stairs and the now uncomfortable feeling up his hole. The magic soon had both areas fresh and he dropped his wand, settling back against Harry. He searched for a comfortable position – to no avail – before giving up and slumping against Harry’s chest. 

“So, are muggles capable of good ideas?” Harry murmured into Draco’s hair, referring to his earlier insult. If he hadn’t been able to feel the smirk against his skull, he was certain he would have heard it in the other man’s tone.

“Don’t get too carried away, that was only one fuck.” Draco replied, years of experience allowing him to pitch his tone just on the right side of indifference without being insulting to the passion they’d just shared. “I’ll have to see if the rest are up to standard before I make a decision.” 

“You know they will be.” Harry retorted, and this time Draco could definitely hear the smirk in his voice. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Draco replied, rising from his uncomfortable position and waving his wand in the general direction of both his and Harry’s clothes; he knew the quality of his spell work would ensure they ended up in the washing basket whether or not Kreacher had gotten around to unpacking it. “I’m going to shower.” He announced, rising up the stairs in a leisurely fashion, allowing Harry an excellent view of his naked body as he passed his position on the staircase. 

“Meet me in the living room afterward?” Harry asked, turning his face to seek out Draco’s so he could now see the full force of his confident smirk. 

“I’ll see.” He replied tauntingly. 

Not minutes after Draco left the shower, he met Harry in the living room after all, and ended up needing a shower again only half an hour later. 

\--o--

After their afternoon introducing their bodies to the house, Harry had insisted on helping Kreacher with the unpacking, insisting it was a rite of passage to unpack your belongings when you moved into a new home. Draco had absolutely no intention of partaking in that tradition and, when the sofa they had chosen together was unpacked from its crate, returned to size and placed in the comfort of their living room he sat down, retrieved his copy of Potion’s Master’s Monthly from its packing place with a lazy Accio and lounged back against the comfortable pillows. He was first pleased that the sofa was every bit as comfortable as he had thought it would be and then disappointed they hadn’t unpacked it before they’d fucked in this room – then again, taking Harry with his palms spread against the wall as Draco crashed into him from behind had been most satisfying, and Draco was sure the muggles who invented such a dirty tradition would have no problem with he and Harry returning to this room at a later date.

And if they did, Draco would simply change the tradition and improve it; he was a wizard after all.

He then lost himself in a lengthy article about the benefits and downfalls of using fluxweed as a substitute in a range of potions where their traditional recipes relied on much more rare and expensive ingredients. So caught up in the debate, he was, that he barely noticed the time slip by, the dusk settle over the day outside the window, and Harry announce himself with a slow, deliberate cough. 

“I’m exhausted.” He said as Draco looked up from the magazine to his lover. Draco simply rolled his eyes, although he knew his smile told Harry the disdain wasn’t serious.

“That’s what you get when you work yourself like a house elf.” He shot in reply, folding the magazine closed and placing it down on the coffee table – he hadn’t heard the sounds of it appearing, which told him Kreacher must have been the one to unpack it – before rising to greet his lover at the doorway. “Time for bed?” He asked, eyeing the pyjamas Harry had already changed into. 

“Time for bed.” Harry repeated, brushing their lips together in a chaste kiss. Draco instantly tried to deep it and, to his delight, his permission was eagerly granted as Harry’s tongue swept into his mouth. The snog was heated and heavy but ended all too soon as Harry tugged his lips away. “Too tired.” He breathed through a yawn. 

Draco held back both a chuckle and a smile at how adorable Harry looked in that moment; because Malfoy’s didn’t do adorable and, when there was opportunity for insult, they always took it. “Looks like we’ll definitely have died of old age before we complete the muggles tradition.” 

Harry lazily swatted him on the shoulder, before taking his hand and leading him upstairs to bed. Draco allowed himself to be led – something he could never imagine allowing himself to do with anyone else – and watched as Harry dropped his hand and slipped between the sheets of their bed. 

Disposing of his clothes into the washing basket which had now been unpacked and placed in the corner of their room, Draco then sought out a pair of pyjamas of his own. Once dressed, he opened his mouth to speak to Harry, although the words died on his lips when he turned to see his lover already snoring softly against the pillows. 

\--o--

The next morning Draco awoke to the sunlight cracking through the gaps in the curtains; clearly Harry had unpacked and put those up, a house elf like Kreacher would have noticed the difference in size and altered them magically. Draco rolled over to reach for his wand to perform the charm himself when he caught sight of Harry, still lying soundly asleep. His eyes were peacefully closed, his lips slightly parted as gentle, breathy sighs of sleep escaped his lips. He had clearly grown too warm during the night as his pyjama top was now abandoned, leaving Draco with a full view of his chest as he lay on his back; not a model body by any means, his chest was broad and lined with muscle from the physical requirements of Auror training – muscles which were, of course, not only attractive to Draco but also rather handy for several of their more adventurous bedroom activities – but that wasn’t the best thing about Harry. The best thing was the scars, welts and marks which littered his torso. None of them were ugly to Draco, not even the deepest, an ugly red welt in the centre of his chest where (or at least Harry had told him) he’d worn one of the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes. No, not ugly at all, for each one a reminder of the strength, of the power, or the magical prowess Draco lay beside, of the man he called his own. Draco couldn’t stop himself, now, as the thoughts wove through his mind. All intentions of leaning for his wand were forgotten and he leant forward, instead puckering his lips over one of Harry’s fainter scares, trailing a light tread of kisses up against the silvery line of skin. Harry stirred only a little, so Draco sought out another patch of skin, this time pressing his kisses over a deeper, thicker scar which stretched across his abdomen. Although his eyes were still closed, his lover stirred a little more, and a soft sigh escaped his lips; encouraged, Draco continued his work, lifting his kisses higher and higher until he reached the welt in the centre of Harry’s chest. He placed a kiss right in its centre then, unable to help himself, darted out a tongue to lick the mark from its root to its tip. 

That particular caress had the intended affect; Harry’s eyes snapped open and the sigh which could have been regarded as nothing more than a sound of sleep emerged as a much deeper, much needier moan. Lifting his head from Harry’s torso Draco smiled, pulling the length his body over the other mans.

“Good morning,” he whispered, hovering his lips mere inches over Harry’s as he spoke, letting the breath of his words tickle against his lips.

“Morning,” Harry barely had time to breath in reply before Draco sank down, claiming his lips in a kiss. They lay together, Draco over Harry, with their bodies and lips pressed together. The kiss was long and slow and built a steady pleasure deep in Draco’s groin. When he felt himself begin to harden he rolled his hips, seeking out similar evidence of pleasure in the man below. 

Suddenly, Harry pushed him off and rolled over, away from Draco.

“What?” He gasped, affronted and surprised to be cast away so unexpectedly.

“I told you, I want to save the bedroom until last.”

Draco merely raised his eyebrow, nodding toward the hardening of Harry’s cock against his pyjama bottoms, the length he’d felt against his own only moments before. “Don’t seriously tell me you don’t want this.” He challenged.

“Of course I do,” Harry had the sense to admit in reply, closing the gap he’d created between them to caress his hand down Draco’s shoulder, over the curve of his spine and to his arse. “Just not here, not yet anyway… I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower…”

“Is that an invitation?” Draco asked, moving from insulted to flirty as quickly as a Firebolt could take off into flight. 

“What do you think?” Harry asked, with a smirk that Draco would have never believed Harry Potter capable of years ago. Now, however, he knew exactly what that smirk meant. Before he had time to reply Harry had risen from the bed and was making his way to the door of their bedroom. Draco had the good sense to follow, ridding himself of his pyjama shirt before he left the room and abandoning his trousers somewhere in the hall. By the time he reached the bathroom he could already see Harry standing under the steady spray of the shower, beckoning him to join. 

Once Draco was under the warmth of the water their kisses resumed, their tongues sliding and slipping together just as their wet bodies did under the stream of the water. Draco’s excitement hadn’t dropped at all, and he ground the evidence of his arousal against Harry’s thigh, revelling in the extra slide the water of the shower allowed him to have against Harry’s skin. Soon he had Harry backed against the cool tile of the shower cubicle, grinding their hips together as the water splashed around them. A sudden, wicked thought crossed Draco’s mind and without hesitation he dropped to his knees to close his lips around the long, hard wetness of Harry’s cock. If the gasp above him was any indication, Draco’s wicked thought was more than well received and he smirked around the length he held between his lips. He sank his lips the whole way down, taking Harry as far as he could for a single suck before he released him with a pop. Then he began to tease, firing gentle licks and feather light kisses over the length of his lover’s arousal, making sure his tongue and lips left no inch of the skin untouched. By the time he had achieved his goal Harry’s hands had sunk into his hair, he was writhing madly against the wall of the shower and moaning out demands for more. A quick look up at Harry, at his pink cheeks, closed eyes and parted lips, was enough to convince Draco to give into his demands. He returned hips lips to the tip of Harry’s cock, pausing teasingly for a moment more, before sinking down into a steady rhythm of sucking. He took care to cover his teeth, and twisted his tongue over the head each time he rose, coaxing all the sounds from Harry he had come to put at the same worth of his own pleasure. He worked skilfully and it wasn’t long before Harry stiffened, pulled Draco’s hair in a hard, jerky motion and came without shame down his throat. Draco swallowed as the warm, salty spray hit his throat, keeping his lips firmly around his lover until his pleasure had faded. Once it had he rose from his knees, pressing his lips against the other mans in a heated kiss; Harry, the kinky sod, always got a kick out of tasting himself on Draco’s tongue. 

“That was brilliant.” Harry breathed when they broke apart, before grabbing Draco by the shoulders and spinning them around so that their positions were reversed. Draco hissed out in surprise as his back hit the cool tiles behind him, but soon forgot that displeasure as Harry sank to his knees just as he had done himself moments ago. “But I bet I can do better.” He challenged, before dragging the flat of his tongue right from the base of Draco’s achingly hard cock to the tip. 

Draco bit his lip to stifle the moan of pleasure, determined to engage Harry in the battle he’d presented. It was one of the things he’d come to lo… enjoy most about their relationship, the jibes that could border on insults that flowed between them without worry of causing hurt. Hurt, in fact, was rarely the result of any of their arguments; they were usually solved with fantastic sex. “Just you try.” He retorted once he felt his voice would stay steady enough to deliver the challenge, then deciding it wise to speak no more as Harry took him in his mouth. He tried to stay silent but, as his lover knew from experience just the twists and turns to make with his tongue to make Draco come undone, there was little chance of that. His moans and sighs of pleasure were thick and fast and it wasn’t long until he was returning the favour, ramming his hands into Harry’s hair as he came down his throat. 

Harry rose when the bucks of Draco’s hips had fallen still and shot him a cocky, smug smirk with an air of confidence which should be illegal if it wasn’t coming from a Malfoy. “Reckon I did.” He said, “Do better, that was. Are you going to admit muggles are capable of good ideas yet?” 

“I’m still undecided. Perhaps you can do more to convince me later.” Draco retorted, glad Harry had spoken first to give him time to compose himself. Determined to have the final word and not let Harry continue his smirk into the rest of the day he stepped to the door, looked over his shoulder and said; 

“You’re making breakfast. I’ll have bacon and eggs.” 

It wasn’t, however, his demand that was the worst part for Harry. No, that came when he arrived back in their bedroom, reached for his wand, and waved the simple spell which would turn the water ice cold.

A sharp, high-pitched yelp from the direction of the bathroom told him he had succeeded. 

\--o--

When Draco went down to the kitchen he found Harry already standing over the stove with the bacon sizzling beautifully in the frying pan. 

“Nice shower?” He asked, announcing his presence with a cocky smirk. 

Harry leant over to the utensils hanging by the wall of the kitchen, offering Draco a delightful peak at the skin of his lower back as his shirt lifted, taking the spatula off its hook. He didn’t turn the spatula to the pan, however, but held it loosely between his fingers as he turned to face Draco. “I really ought to teach you a lesson for that.” He murmured, his green eyes darkening sinfully.

Draco held back a shiver of excitement and stalked forward, his smirk remaining unwavering. “Oh really?”

“Really.”

Later the once sizzling bacon was burnt and forgotten, but they had found some rather… interesting alternative uses for the spatula.


	2. Part 2

After getting Kreacher to whip up a second breakfast, the rest of the day passed quickly. Despite Harry taking a few days leave to move house the Auror office owled a little after eleven for his opinion on a developing case – Draco only let him go because he promised to make homemade lasagne for dinner when he returned – which saw him disappearing through the Floo just before twelve. Draco spent the day finishing the magazine he began earlier, spending some time in the room they had made the study consulting the stock levels of his experimental potions lab at Phineas Bourne’s, a set of labs founded in honour of the experimental brewer, where he earned his living as an inventor. He was perfectly capable of staying away from work for a few days, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t order more Asphodel root when he realised he needed some, and perhaps it would be wise to stock up on dragon scales, and maybe some eye of newt if he was going to reattempt last week’s brew…. Draco was just about to find out an order form when the delicious, hearty smell of lasagne rose up the staircase and through the open study door. He went down to the kitchen to find Harry removing the food from the oven – Draco had always prided himself on impeccable timing, and arriving at the exact moment Harry bent over to take the dish from the oven was a perfect example of his skill – and setting it on the countertop.

“I didn’t hear you come home.” Draco said from the doorway. Harry didn’t appeared surprised by the voice – his Auror training meant he was virtually impossible to sneak up on – and he turned to greet Draco with a warm smile. 

“Wanted to surprise you.” He replied, picking up his wand from the table and waving at a draw which – when it sprang open – Draco saw held cutlery. Another flick of his wand saw them zoom out of the draw and through into dining room. “I’ll bring the plates through.” He said, nodding toward the door without dropping his smile.

Draco gave one in return and turned on his heel, heading to the dining room where he saw a bottle of his favourite elf-made wine waiting in the middle of the table beside two empty glasses. When Harry came in with two plates of lasagne, he barely had time to put them down before Draco jumped forward, seizing Harry by his collar, grabbing his lips in a fierce kiss and pushing him against the wall. 

Unlike their burnt breakfast, this meal made it out of the kitchen. Much like their burnt breakfast, however, it was inedible because by the time both lay panting and spent on the dining room carpet and remembered the meal was there it had long gone cold. 

“At least that’s another room down.” Draco said as he poked at the lasagne in disappointment, before turning to pour himself a glass of wine of a suitable size to take the edge of his regret for the missed meal. 

-0-

The next day Harry went to meet Weasley and Granger for lunch in Diagon Alley. Harry hadn’t invited Draco, much to his pleasure. Although he could be courteous when his presence was absolutely necessary, such as Harry’s birthday party, he much preferred to maintain an outright distance from such people. Granger, he would admit, could provide an intellectual level of conversation if one ignored her blood heritage, but the thought of eating beside Weasley with his utter lack of simple table manners was enough to turn Draco’s stomach. 

Harry usually asked, though… Perhaps he was beginning to understand that Draco would rather shred his favourite dress robes with a series of irreversible Diffindo’s than voluntarily spend time with Harry’s friends.  
Finding himself alone once again he returned to his study to complete the stock order he’d started the day before. He double checked the items he’d marked down, twirled his quill between his fingers as he considered adding powdered Bicorn Horn to the list – because people like Harry might nibble on the ends of their quills, but a Malfoy would never do anything so undignified – before noting it down. Whether his stores were low or not, the powder stored well and would no doubt be needed sometime. Once he had sealed the parchment and sent the order with his owl he returned to his study, pouring over the textbooks lining his bookshelf. His eyes lingered on the first, his copy of Most Potente Potions, which was placed beside Budge’s Book of Basic Potion Skills. Draco curled his lip as a quick glance of the other shelves told him that they were certainly not arranged in the order in which he’d packed them which accorded to his own highly specialised system of organisation. Harry must have been the one to unpack in here because Draco had given Kreacher specific instructions to place his books on the shelf one by one in the exact order in which Draco had packed them. It was no use calling the elf back now, Draco had to admit, because he didn’t know the system. He would rearrange them himself and then take out his frustrations on Harry when he returned – it was his own fault after all, what kind of idiot unpacked when they had a perfectly capable house elf? 

Draco took every book from its incorrect placement on the shelf and soon lost himself in a surrounding of volumes. He organised each into piles by topic – yes, as Harry had pointed out more than once, they were all potions, but all covered finely different areas of the art - and level of difficulty. He then alphabetised each category by author and then, finally, determined the order of importance to his current job to make a decision as to what order each group should be slotted onto the shelves. Then, of course, his back copies of Potion Master’s Monthly we’re kept separately on the bottom shelf, organised by date of issue. He was so busy slotting each neatly into place he didn’t hear the crack of apparition that would have told him Harry was home. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, leaning against the door frame of Draco’s study with an easy smile.

“What am I doing?” Draco repeated, removing the questioning tone and replacing it with a sneering one. “What am I doing?” He echoed again, his tone becoming harsher. “I’ve spent my afternoon reorganising my entire collection because you couldn’t do the basic task of unpacking them in the order that I had packed them in.” He knew his tone was prissy, but this mattered to him, like saving people and hair that defied all concepts of gravity mattered to Harry. Organisation was key. 

“If you were that bothered you should have done it yourself.” Harry replied, clearly not taking Draco’s tone of voice for the warning it was, 

“I had informed Kreacher that the exact way my books were packed was the way they were to be placed out.” He snapped back, heaving his last book - Potions les plus Meurtrières by Jacque Vérany, a text which made the effort of reading in French most worthwhile - onto the shelf with a considerable amount of restraint to ensure it ended up in its proper place and not flying toward Harry’s face. “But no. You being an absolute imbecile just had to go and single-handedly destroy my entire categorisation system.”

Suddenly Harry slipped up behind him, winding an arm around his waist. “You can’t stay mad at me forever…” He murmured, pressing an open mouthed kiss against Draco’s neck. The contact was like water dousing the flames of Draco’s anger and, as Harry pressed more kisses down the path of his neck, he found his shoulders sagging as the tension rippled from them. 

His body may be a traitor to desire, but as a Malfoy, he was always in complete control of his mental faculties. “I can’t.” He admitted readily, knowing the apparent lack of resistance would throw his lover. A pause of Harry’s lips against his skin confirmed his expectations and Draco smirked, taking his opportunity to prise himself from Harry’s grasp and turn to face him. “But I can certainly teach you a lesson.” 

The confusion in Harry’s eye was soon melted away by the desire which overtook them, heating his emerald eyes with fire and he asked; “Like I did yesterday?”

“Perhaps,” Draco shrugged the gesture light and non-committal. “Although the lack of kitchen utensils maybe a problem there.” He allowed his gaze to burn into Harry’s for a moment before deliberately averting his gaze as he travelled to the desk of his study. “I may be able to find an alternative…”

“What do you have in mind?” Harry asked, stepping forward to follow Draco with all the eagerness of a crup puppy following its owner. Draco stifled his smirk, his anger already forgotten at the thought of having Harry at his will, however he wanted; from the look on his face, he certainly wouldn’t need any potion to do that. 

He turned the full heat of his gaze on Harry, deliberately pausing as tension built between them, his question hanging in the air. “I could do many things.” Draco purred eventually, with a tone of promise to his words, knowing he would be driving Harry’s fantasies wild with longing by this point. Draco would say this for his lover; he never would have imagined a Gryffindor-turned-Auror to be capable of such dirty thoughts.

It was simply delicious. 

It wouldn’t be long before he gave into the temptation and asked for one of the wild thoughts dancing in that pretty, scarred head to come to life.

“Like what?” Harry whispered, as if on cue.

Draco was unable to hold back his smirk as he turned his back, striding confidently behind his desk. It was a position of power, he knew, from his father taking the position when he had spoken to him countless times through his youth.

In Draco’s current situation, it also helped to hide the growing tent in the material of the front of his trousers.

“I’m going to take you over this desk, I’m going to fuck you raw.” Draco’s voice was dark and deep with desire and he watched, with concealed delight, as Harry’s eyes lost any trace of their emerald in the depths of black arousal that built within them. “What’s more, I’m going to make you beg for it.” 

The darkness of arousal in Harry’s eyes waned, just for a second, to allow a bright flash to pass through them; Draco recognised it instantly. The lure of a challenge; Draco had told him he would beg and Harry, being Harry, would only be too willing to defy him. 

“Is that so?” His lover asked, proving just how well Draco could read every inch of his body.

Draco didn’t respond. Instead, he smirked knowingly, before dropping himself into his chair. He watched as Harry’s eyes widened with surprise; moving to sit as Draco had, in his leather chair with his legs splayed wide, revealed the long, thick line of his cock, pressing achingly against his trousers. Yes, he had hidden it by standing behind the desk. But now his game plan had changed. Now he wanted Harry to see everything.

Everything. 

Without a word he pulled down both his trousers and pants, pushing them only far enough away so that his cock could spring free. As soon as the length was exposed to the air Harry’s eyes found it, heavy with arousal. He licked his lip, so quickly that Draco wondered if he was even aware he’d made the gesture.

“Of course you’ll beg.” Draco retorted, responding to the last time Harry had spoken as he took his own cock in palm. “You can’t resist my cock.” 

Harry, rather wisely in Draco’s opinion, didn’t respond. But Draco didn’t need his words to tell him how he had made his lover feel. Draco watched as his fisted himself almost lazily, slowly beating his grip from tip to shaft; Harry’s body told him everything he needed to know. His eyes, drowning with want, never left Draco’s cock as he stroked himself. His cheeks were pink with pleasure and his fists were curled in on themselves, as if he were trying to restrain himself from touching… Ah, yes. Of course, the biggest sign of Harry’s need was the bulge in his trousers, the hard line of his cock pressing against the awful muggle denim he insisted on wearing. 

Draco languidly traced his thumb over the head of his cock, teasing a bead of pre-cum from the slit and rubbing it over the head until it glistened. Harry’s gaze still hadn’t left his working hand, now trained on the thumb that worked so leisurely. 

Just two more strokes was all it took for a moan to escape Harry. When it did, he snapped his gaze up, meeting the fiery challenge of Draco’s eyes.

“Fuck.” He murmured, as if his moan had broken all reserve, and launched himself across the room. 

Before Harry could reach him, however, Draco lifted a hand, stopping Harry in his track. 

“I seem to recall telling you that you would beg.” He informed his lover, his voice as smooth as silk. 

“Draco..” Harry whispered, and Draco raised his hand higher, silencing him again. 

“Easy.” He smirked, knowing he had Harry exactly where he wanted him. “Not so fast. First, you’ll strip.” 

As effortlessly as if he were under Imperius Harry followed Draco’s orders. His jumper fell to the ground first, followed quickly by his t-shirt, then his denims. Piece by piece, Harry’s body was revealed to him. Once he was naked Draco lifted his hand again, this time raising a single finger. He spun the finger in a twirling motion, gesturing for Harry to turn around. “Now you’ll bend over the desk.” He instructed, his words still as fine and as soft as silk. 

Harry swallowed, but yet again, followed Draco’s instructions without complaint. He leant over the oak, exposing himself beautifully to Draco’s thankful eye. He stood, allowing his trousers and pants to fall, stepping out of them as he moved toward Harry. He leant over him, purposely shifting so his cock lay between Harry’s cheeks; the movement alone earned a shiver of desire from the man beneath him. 

“Now,” he breathed his words hot and heavy against Harry’s ear. “You’ll beg.”

A sharp inhalation of breath told Draco all he needed to know; Harry would attempt to resist, of course – why would Draco consider him a worthy partner if he didn’t?, but ultimately he would surrender. As predicted, no further sounds slipped from Harry’s lips. Draco dipped his body down impossibly further, so every inch of his skin pressed against Harry’s, so the hardness of his length ached against Harry’s entrance teasingly. 

Honestly, Draco hoped Harry would hurry up and get on with it. It was as teasing for him as it was for his lover. “Go on.” Draco encouraged, his voice low, coaxingly seductive. “Beg.”

“And if I don’t?” Came Harry’s sharp reply. Draco smirked at the response, knowing that now he had Harry engaged in a dialogue, it wouldn’t be long before his refusals fell to pleads. He rolled his hips, delighting in the groan that came from the other man’s lips, reminding him exactly what he would be missing out on if he didn’t. 

“You want it, Potter.” Draco breathed, and from the squeak beneath him, knew he had been right to use Harry’s last name. When Draco was being this way – harsh and unyielding – he knew Harry liked to be addressed as they did when they were teens. “You won’t get it. You won’t get my dick, fucking you. Not if you don’t beg.” 

“Oh fuck.” Harry groaned, his words as delicious as the finest glass of elf-made wine, sweeter than honey and hotter than anything Draco had ever tasted. “Please.” 

“Please?” Draco echoed, an unspoken demand for more. 

“Please.” Harry repeated, this time his voice nothing more than a whimper. “Please. Fuck me. Please… Please…” His final pleads were nothing more than mewls and – mainly because he could hold back no longer himself – Draco drew himself back, murmured a lubrication charm and plunged himself between Harry’s cheeks without preparation, without warning. His lover hissed from the sting Draco knew he had caused – he knew Harry wouldn’t care, it was times like this his lover liked pain with his pleasure – and arched his back as Draco pushed inside. Draco wasted no time in setting a harsh, punishing rhythm of thrusts, gripping Harry’s hips in a desperate attempt to hold back in losing control completely. Desire overwhelmed Draco as Harry moaned at the feel of his cock pounding into him, as his lover took himself in hand and pleasured himself in time to the thrusts. Draco had planned on forbidding this, on not allowing Harry to come as punishment, but he was lost in the bliss of his own arousal, too wrapped up in his own excitement to care. Once Harry began to touch himself, it was no time at all until he was coming, emptying himself into his lover and hoarsely calling for Harry to do the same. He did, and not long after Draco had softened, Harry was painting Draco’s desk with the evidence of his pleasure. 

Draco pulled himself away, pulling Harry up into a standing position before dropping them both onto the office chair behind him. 

“There might be more to this muggle thing than I first thought.” Draco murmured into the back of Harry’s wild hair, unsure if his lover heard him over the loud pants of him regaining his breath. 

-0-

On their way up to bed that night Harry paused at the door right at the head of the stairs. “Do you fancy sleeping in here tonight?” He called to Draco’s retreating back. 

Draco, already at the door of their bedroom, turned back to look to Harry and then behind him. “The spare bedroom? Why?”

“Well… It was just an awful waste to turn down your wake-up call this morning, that’s all…” Harry said with a sly smile.

“Oh really?” Draco replied, giving a smile to rival Harry’s. “And what makes you’ll be lucky enough that I’ll offer such a call again?” 

Harry stepped forward, taking Draco by the collar of his robes and pulling him in for a kiss. He was only too willing to accept, delighting in the warm feeling of lips against his. Harry broke the kiss all too soon and took a step back, although he didn’t drop his hand from Draco’s robes. “I do consider myself pretty lucky.” 

As it turned out, Harry was as lucky as he believed himself. What was more, he didn’t need to wait until the morning for that luck to come in. 

-0-

Draco had to awake early the next morning for a day at work; the time he had taken off for the move had passed far quicker than he had realised. He awoke early, slipping away from Harry laying naked beneath the sheets of their spare room and into the bathroom to shower. He had been tempted to wake Harry with kisses, hot and wet across the expanse of his back, nibbling up to his neck where he would sink his teeth in… He’d had the time to spare, as he’d woken long before his alarm, but he chose not to. As he lay in the soft sheets of their spare bed, he mentally ticked off the rooms in his head; hallway, living room, bathroom, kitchen, dining room, Draco’s office – Draco paused a moment to bask in that delicious memory – and the spare bedroom. That only left one room – their bedroom – the room Harry had been so determined to wait until last. 

Under the warm spray of the shower Draco was unable to stop himself from hardening as he thought of how he and Harry would truly share their new bed tonight, and before long he was pleasuring himself in firm, sure strokes with his moans drowned out by the rushing water. His mind was full of images of riding Harry’s cock atop of their brand new sheets as he came, the burst of white washed away by the shower as quickly as they came. 

After that, Draco’s day seemed to pass agonisingly slowly. He entered his lab to find his newly ordered supplies waiting and unpacked them before checking for messages since he’d been away. Apparently Rowland, one of the more senior brewers, had some thoughts on Draco’s experimentation with the Wiggenweld Potion and wanted to see him as soon has he returned from work. Draco sighed in impatience, his hands itching to get back to his cauldron even after a few days away. However, he knew better than to ignore a request such as that and spent the next hour in an extremely boring meeting discussing the effects of his changes to the potion so far. The only positive to come from the meeting was that he had been working on the Wiggenweld Potion for a while and hence knew every change he had made in such detail he could recite it in his sleep, which left his mind free to daydream of all the wonderfully wicked ways he could fuck Harry into their mattress when he got home. Once released from Rowland’s office he went back to his lab and set about the potion with newfound gusto; the other man’s obvious disbelief that Draco would produce any real results had stung his pride and, of course, when it came to a Slytherin’s – and a Malfoy’s – matter of pride, they would prove any disbelievers wrong with grace and elegance. Even if he had to sweat rivers, even if he had to pour his own blood and tears into this potion he would achieve what he set out to do, before presenting it to Rowland with an air of arrogance which suggested the work had been easy. Daydreams of Rowland’s astonished face took over those of Harry’s moaning one – and that was very hard to do – as Draco chopped, boiled and brewed his ingredients. He worked with determination, carefully noting every change he made, every flicker of colour and every emission of gas the potion gave in return, until it simmered – finally complete – in his cauldron over a large, burning fire. He watched as the sheen turned from a pale, soft pink to a bright, glimmering shade of green which bubbled gently at the surface. Draco smiled, satisfied, and reduced the heat under the cauldron. It would need to simmer for 24 hours before he could be certain, but Draco was sure he had managed the alterations Rowland had scoffed as being impossible. He set the charms which would keep the fire at the steady flicker of flames the potion required, as well as the more complex charm that would simultaneously record every change in the potions state and alert Draco if anything went wrong. 

Not that it would, of course, Draco thought to himself with a smirk as he left the cauldron simmering under a final protective bubble. He was Draco Malfoy; he was smart, calculated and he was damn well good at his job. And, he thought with an even deeper smirk, he had Harry Potter, of all the wizards in the world, waiting at home for him. 

Draco locked his labs, closed the wards which would forbid anyone but himself entrance – they were, naturally, frowned upon by the company he worked for, but he wouldn’t put it past Rowland to try and tamper with his work – and left the building for the nearby apparition point. As he walked thoughts of the morning returned to him and by the time he was opening the door to his and Harry’s home, he was already half-hard and ready to drag his lover straight to the bedroom. 

As he pushed open the door to their house, however, he paused in his tracks as a delicious smell reached him. “Harry?” He called out as he took off his cloak.

“In here.” Came the reply from the dining room. Draco followed the sound – and the smell – to find Harry standing beside the table next to a lasagne, another bottle of Draco’s favourite wine uncorked, offering him a glass. Beside the bottle were two single flowers in an ornate vase Draco had never seen before; it wasn’t the vase, however, that got his attention. It was the flowers themselves. A lily and a narcissus, wound together at the stem, both as white and as pure as snow. “To make up for the one that got ruined.” Harry said, nodding toward the steaming dish on the table with a smile. Despite himself, Draco smiled in return. He didn’t do soppy gestures of affection – the previous meal had been in bribe and trade, something his mind understood – but he couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest as he took the glass and allowed Harry to press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

The thoughts he’d had travelling home were far from forgotten as he sat at the table but, Draco reasoned as his stomach growled hungrily, they could wait until after dinner. As they ate Draco watched Harry; Draco watching wasn’t unusual, but the way Harry was acting was. He was all too enthusiastic as Draco told him about his developments with the Wiggenweld Potion – not that Harry didn’t care, but usual his lack of regard for potions bore through – he kept reaching to refill Draco’s wine glass but never seemed to drink anymore for himself and, most worryingly, he never seemed to look at Draco for too long; his eyes darted around the room, from his food to the walls to Draco’s emptying glass, but never Draco himself – at least, not for long. 

“What’s wrong with you?” He snapped. It was sudden but, as a Malfoy, he was never one to skirt around issues. Perhaps his tone had been a little too harsh in hindsight, but the unsettled churning in his stomach that Harry’s behaviour had caused was starting to affect him more than he would like to admit. 

Harry stopped in surprise, with his fork halfway to his mouth, the expression of a kicked crup on his face. “What do you mean?” He asked, blinking worryingly. 

Draco pulled back his snappy tone, but still made sure his voice was measured enough so his worry didn’t show. Well, not too much of it, anyway. “You’re jittering around like you’ve swallowed a whole batch of Jumping Draught.” 

Harry blinked once more, slowly, and lowered his fork. Draco’s heart seemed to jump into his throat as the hand that had once held the fork reached out to cover Draco’s. “I’m sorry.” Harry murmured, rubbing a relaxing pattern over Draco’s hand with his thumb. “I guess I’m just nervous, about living together and all, I mean… It’s pretty…”

Draco swallowed. He knew exactly what Harry meant. “Yeah.” He breathed in return. Because it was. 

Harry stood, used his hand over Draco’s to pull him up too, and pressed their lips together. It was soft and gentle but somehow wasn’t the same as the chaste kisses they often shared. Despite its tenderness it was firm, solid and real against Draco’s lips and it stayed that way as Harry guided him out of the room and toward the staircase. As they reached the foot of the stairs Harry broke the kiss – only for a moment as his eyes flickered upward – then sealed them together once more. As he did he wound his arm tight against Draco’s waist and, without warning, apparated them straight to their bedroom. 

The urge to call Harry a show off, the urge to shoot him a roll of his eyes and a deprecating glare died right on Draco’s lips at the look in Harry’s eyes as they landed. Harry’s eyes were burning such a deep, burning emerald that he instantly became lost in them. The kisses continued, just as they had before, as Harry lifted his hands to Draco’s robes. He worked at the fastenings leisurely and his tongue lapped Draco’s lips at the same pace, as if he had all the time in the world. Each attempt Draco made to push them toward the bed, to rid Harry of his t-shirt or to speed up the removal of his own clothes Harry gentle dissuaded, holding their bodies in place as Draco’s robes fell to the ground. He unbuttoned his shirt with the same agonising slowness, opening each as if it were forged from pure gold. After what seemed like hours Draco’s shirt joined his robes and – finally – Harry began to urge them towards the bed. This time Draco’s attempt to remove his lovers top was not discouraged and it joined the pile of clothes on the floor behind them as they dropped onto their bed between kisses. As he lay back, sinking into the pillows behind him and breaking their lips apart, Draco’s eyes fluttered open. Harry’s gaze was just as strong, but it wasn’t something Draco had seen before; of course he’d seen them this dark, burning with desire, but tonight… Tonight they held something different. Something more. Something that Draco… He swallowed, and dismissed the thought before it could truly form, losing himself in the touch of Harry’s lips as they fell down his neck and chest as if mapping his body to memory.

The look stayed with Draco as Harry’s lips burned into his skin and he didn’t try to rush his lover again. He simply lay back, eyes closed, writhing under the skilful lips that covered him. After a while, both of their trousers and boxers followed the suit of their other clothes and Harry hovered above Draco, their faces inches apart. The look in Harry’s eyes hadn’t faded, only deepened, and it almost blinded Draco as close as they were together. A murmured charm Draco knew too well told him what would happen before he felt the slick rub of Harry’s finger against him. Without a word Harry eased himself inside and opened Draco with gentle, unhurried strokes of his finger before a second slipped into join it. At the feel of the second Draco gasped, the intensity of the moment coupled with the sensation of being so intimately filled (despite the fact they’d had sex countless times) too much to hold back. Two fingers became three and Draco moaned, rocking his hips to meet with Harry’s strokes. When he pulled out and settled himself between Draco’s legs he paused, hovering silently above as if asking for permission. Crazy, when they’d been shagging for years. 

But, somehow, in the moment that had built between them, just right. Draco licked his lower lip and nodded, opening his legs a little wider to confirm the gesture. As he did Harry sank down, guiding himself into Draco. Each thrust was long, slow and seemed to fill Draco entirely. Each drive of Harry’s cock seemed to land exactly on his prostate, the intensity of the pleasure only heightened by the way Harry refused to lower his gaze from Draco’s. The whole experience was different from anything they’d ever done before; even as Harry picked up speed the air still seemed to crackle between them. Draco drew his lover in for a kiss, unable to cope with how the look in his eyes was affecting his heart, and tried to reciprocate the open emotion in Harry’s eyes through his tongue. He must have been successful as Harry moaned out into the kiss, a soft, keening sound before he broke away, green eyes seeking grey again, as Harry called out. 

“Draco…” 

The sound of his name came with Harry’s release, warm and filling and so right. So right that Draco couldn’t hold back his own orgasm and he succumbed, his pleasure guiding him over the edge. 

When Draco opened his eyes Harry had slipped out of him, yet still hovered above. He lifted a hand, slowly tracing the side of Draco’s jaw, his fingers gently caressing his cheek. 

Harry opened his lips; “I…” He began but trailed off, swallowing as if swallowing his nerves. Now, Draco understood why he had been so jittery as they ate. Now Draco understood why he wanted to save their bedroom until last.

Now Draco knew. 

“I love you.” Harry whispered against his lips. 

“I…” Now it was Draco’s turn to pause. He tried, for from the moment the words had left Harry’s lips, Draco knew something else too. He knew it so strongly he was amazed he hadn’t known before. He opened his lips, and tried again. “I…”

“I know.” Harry smiled, and dipped down to kiss him. Relieved, Draco let his feelings flow physically, winding their tongues together until Harry parted their lips and dropped down onto the bed beside him. 

“Perhaps,” Draco began as Harry pulled him into his arms. “I can admit that muggles don’t have such bad ideas after all.”


End file.
